goodbye
by viciousboar
Summary: Goodbyes are hard to say. Even if they aren't really goodbyes.


Freddie doesn't want it. The alarm set off at midnight on the dot, a piercing noice in the silence of the studio.

Her lips part from his, and although they've been connected for the past ninety minutes, he aches for the warmth of them against his once more.

"I should go," she breathes, but he grabs her hand as she makes to stand up from their two favorite beanbags.

"Stay," he whispers, and leans his forehead against hers.

She smirks in that Sam-like way. "Won't you mother be horrified you're not in bed? That you're with a girl instead? At _midnight_?"

He gives her a half-grin, but there's really nothing funny about their situation. "I don't care."

She gives him a small smile, and a short"goodbye" full of so much more than either can really process at the moment; and she presses her lips towards his once more.

"I should go," she says, and then she's gone.

He checks his phone. 12:01.

It's done.

Goodbye.

* * *

><p>She disappears. Out the door and into the hallway.<p>

When you pass Carly's door, you can hear vague sobbing noises and a comforting voice seeping through the crack.

Goodbyes are hard to say; they're even harder when they're not really goodbyes. They're just sweet memories of holding hands and arguing and sneaking around and entangled arms and kissing (oh, kissing) that you're parting from.

It was a goodbye, but not really.

It was a parting from being a couple. Not from being friends. But it'll be hard to go back a step. You want to rid that goodbye and go back to where they were - _in love_ and _together_.

No, you really didn't want to say goodbye. Neither did she; but why does it feel like it was only hard for you?

Tomorrow you'll see her; and but that goodbye was not a 'goodnight' or a 'see you tommorow, Frednub.' It was a goodbye. From a relationship.

You both know that you'll try again someday, but for now its just not there; and you needed to say goodbye to what they love because it was the right thing to do.

Why is it this hard to let go of one single word?

You senselessly amble down the stairs because you don't want to bother with the elevator, nor the recent memories that went with it.

Walking across the hall, back into your apartment, you sigh.

How do you sleep after a breakup? With a girl you were in love with? And that was in love with you?

The only bit of pride you can take is that you let her know you truly did, seconds before she was gone.

After you and Carly broke up, you were filled with regret that you had given up his dream girl all off of a bacon analogy; but after a while you realize it was infatuation on both sides. One off of heroic saviors, and another off of victory of winning the dream girl.

It was sad, you admit it.

Yet... nothing compared to this.

And tomorrow, you're going to face blond waves and blue orbs and pretend you're alright without your hand running through those curls or glancing at her gleaming eyes when she's happily munching on a snack.

You open the door to your apartment, not bothering to remain silent.

The lights are already on and there she is, your paranoiac mother, wearing a stopwatch around her neck, as well as a impatient frown.

"Freddie!" she says scoldingly. "You're four hours, six minutes, and forty-two seconds late! Please don't tell me you were with that Sam girl..." she continues, but you numb out the sound of her voice and stumble over to your room, leaving her furious interrogating behind.

A picture. A picture on your nightstand of the three (four - Gibby added an idiosyncratic cut-out of his own head) of them from after their first ever webshow.

You remember after Spencer took the picture she had given you a wedgie.

And another one. It was taken by Carly, after the mental institution webshow. That time, though, she granted you a sweet kiss.

Three solid raps on your door and you look up, only to find your mother with a slightly softer expression than the previous one.

"Why on earth were you late, Fredward? Are you sick? You shouldn't spend so much time at other's places, you pick up _things_," she said with a nasty expression, referring to Carly's apartment hang-out.

You think you should even tell her. It'd all end up with an "I told you so."

And she wouldn't understand anyways. Dad really wasn't ever tied to you, they never married. The only frames resting next to her bed were of his toddler self and a vacuum.

Yet one more glance at the two pictures and you break down.

.

She doesn't say anything. Her son is just... broken. There were no other words for it.

She understands. She knows exactly what happened. It's how she cried when _he_ left, before Freddie was born.

She wants to say something, something snotty and mean and sounding like 'I told you so'. But she doesn't.

"Are you happy?" he murmurs, but she doesn't respond.

She just rubs his back and leaves him with a bowl of organic plain popcorn, a pack of diet root beer, and a pile of Galaxy Wars DVDs.

But he just stares at Nug-Nug's image with blank eyes; he wasn't really here, he facing heartbreak. In the studio, at the mental institution, at the lock-in, at the fire escape. With Samantha Puckett.

He's not at any of those places though. He just had to say it to all of them.

Goodbye.

* * *

><p>Tears have already reached the curve of your chin before you knock on Carly's door. When she opens it, she lets you in with a confused but somber expression.<p>

Mumbles, mutterings, that's all that comes out though. And Carly just sits there, taking in what she's able to comprehend with a soothing tone.

This is horrible. Is it this hard to say goodbye to something that was only yours for so little time? It was all that you had held for the past three weeks that you'd longed for for months, years, yet it slipped away from you with hardly any restraint. All the way, past crushes and innocent kisses, back to just friends.

Walking out of the studio was harding than leaving the elevator without a goodbye.

You clear your throat. This shouldn't even be difficult. This was just a boy. Just a boy that _loved_ you. You forcefully brush the leftover tears from your face (although more are on its way).

Although you finally can form words, only three came out. "We broke up."

Carly's face is full of it too; shock and grief and _goodbye_ to another chapter in our lives; her face crumples like a coat.

"It's all my fault," she sobs, and suddenly, tears are streaking down her face too.

Then you're trying to create even more coherent words to comfort her, and then you both can't talk, and are just hugging, weeping, shaking.

Goodness. Is it possible to cry this hard?

You can count all the times you've cried on one hand, but this seems to count for a hundred. Or a thousand. It doesn't really matter, all that it does is it hurts so damn much.

It was a goodbye, but not really. Is that all that you're really crying about?

You'll see him tomorrow, with gelled hair and a spick-and-span button-up shirt that made him look so nerdy, yet so good-looking. And you'll just plaster a smile on your face like it doesn't matter that you're going back to being acquaintances.

Finally, after what feels like countless hours, you both calm down slightly and lay still in bed next to one another.

"I'm so sorry, Sam," she mumbles, clasping her hand with yours as a sign of consolattion.

"You shouldn't be. I technically broke you and Fre-" you can't finish his name, but Carly knows what you mean, and begins to giggle uncontrollably at the memory of her short-lived relationship with the geek next door.

It's so contagious, you begin to laugh too, and finally the grave mood has vanished.

.

She doesn't really know what to do.

When _she_ breaks up with a boy, or vice versa, there's none of this moping around. Sam drags her straight to the couch and they spend all night watching Girly Cow.

But this was _love_. How can anything break love? _Nothing_ should even be able to.

Carly doubts that now as she watches more drops of water slip down Sam's face.

.

"You want to talk about it? Carly asks, eyes full of sympathy. "I have ham. And non-diet soda," she tries to tempt you.

But you don't want sympathy. You want that goodbye to come back to you, so you can possess it and hold it and cherish it, just for another minute. It was a mutual goodbye, you know, but you don't care. Your heart is broken and taken and being loved and loving right back with Freddie Benson's.

Goodbye.


End file.
